


More Than Words

by nocturnias



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drama, F/M, Gen, Post Reichenbach, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-05
Updated: 2013-05-05
Packaged: 2017-12-10 10:47:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/785196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nocturnias/pseuds/nocturnias
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She never understands him. Until the night she does. Written for a 500 Word Fic Challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	More Than Words

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dietplainlite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dietplainlite/gifts).



> I had a 500 word fic challenge. This is the result. Thanks to everyone who reads my stories!
> 
> I don't own anything to do with Sherlock, or make any money from this.

Letting him in is her first mistake.

She makes others as they go.

But she can't refuse him: never could. Just him looking at her long enough robs her of the ability to say _no, stop, don't do this to me._

Because she's the only one who knows and he trusts. The only one he can let himself go to when he needs stitched up, a safe place to rest, somewhere to think. How she ever became his sanctuary is beyond her, but she did, and now she knows that it is a not a blessing so much as a curse.

Still, she always opens the door (he could pick the lock and come in, but he never does unless she's not there). He always flicks his eyes over her for a few seconds, seeing... well, she doesn't know what. But something. Enough to make him slip past her and take refuge somewhere: in her kitchen, on the sofa, in her bed.

She's given up trying to figure anything out. She only asks what questions she needs to know to tend to his injuries. Sometimes she sees him watching her, his eyes wandering over her face, as though he is confused by something he observes. But whatever it is, he never asks.

One day she accepts a date with a new nurse. He's warm and smart, and very funny. He has her laughing all through dinner. For a while, she is able to push the specter of Sherlock Holmes out of her thoughts. It's nice to be wanted, to not feel like a freak because of her horrible though earnest jokes. She feels **pretty** with him. And she hasn't had that in a long time, so she agrees to another date and goes back to her flat with a smile on her face.

He’s on her the second she closes the door: he pushes her against the kitchen wall, pinning her with his body and his gaze. "Where were you?" He grinds out, eyes dark with something she can’t define. She can see his carotid artery throbbing in his neck. She doesn't understand this, and it frightens and bewilders her.

"I was gone," she says, knowing that this was obvious the second the words leave her mouth. She licks her lips and tries again. "On a date." 

“A date,” he echoes, staring at her incredulously.  “You were on a date.”

And now she is angry. He doesn’t want her, so why shouldn’t she go out on a date? Is she supposed to sit around and wait for him to decide he’s glad he has a heart? And that he wants to give it to her?

She says all these things to him before she can stop herself, before she loses her nerve, then claps her hand over her mouth because she’s said too much, far too much.

He stops her from leaving by kissing her, and she responds, holding him tight.  Because finally, **finally** , Molly understands what it all means.  


End file.
